


Ethnochoreology

by Jadealiya



Category: Neverwinter Nights, Neverwinter Nights 2, Neverwinter Nights 2: Mask of the Betrayer, Neverwinter Nights II
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadealiya/pseuds/Jadealiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neverwinter's upstart Knight Captain dreams of things that might have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ethnochoreology

The village center of West Harbor lay before me, dressed in its festival finery. Shadowy figures with familiar voices moved under strings of witch-lights, circling the musicians on the raised platform that served as the village stage. It was a familiar scene, one I had witnessed countless times in my youth. Walking down the path away from my father’s quiet house, I struggled to reconcile the peaceful scene before me with a growing sense of unease.

Hurried footsteps sounded behind me. I reached for my blade out of practiced habit and found myself unarmed and unarmored. I was dressed in simple homespun, a dress and bodice I hadn’t fancied in years. This was wrong. Terribly so. I wasn’t supposed to be here, decked out in what passed for a peasant’s finest.

The footsteps closed in, accompanied by a familiar voice calling my name. “There you are!” Bevil said, laughing as he came into view. He grinned, grabbing my hand. “You look nice! I hope I don’t make too big a fool of myself tonight. Never was a good dancer.”

A reply froze in my throat. It seemed my voice had abandoned me. Bevil didn’t seem to notice, pulling me towards the gathering, glancing back cheerfully and prattling on. “’Course, it can’t be helped, can it? We’re expected to be out here dancing during the festival. Much rather drill with the militia. Ah, not that I don’t want to be with you, of course!”

Bevil fell silent, blushing furiously as we took our places in the dance line. The musicians struck up a reel, the sort of thing every villager of the sword coast dances during festivals. I recognized the steps, and the faces of those arrayed around us. It was surprisingly comforting, moving through patterns learned in my childhood, surrounded by the people who had cared for me. One could be very happy, surrounded by that sort of security.

Bevil found his voice again as we were dancing. “So, you’ll have to decide which of these dances you want at our wedding. It’s all the same to me. Hard to believe, isn’t it? But we need to start thinking about that sort of thing. It’s what people do at our age, right?”

I stumbled slightly, missing several beats of the dance. Once, when we were kids, it might have been assumed Bevil and I would marry. Most people made a match with someone close to home, but I had never thought of my childhood friend in that manner, and we had certainly never come to any such understanding.

Something was wrong. This was home, with all its familiar comforts, but Bevil and I were no longer living in West Harbor. As far as I knew, no one was. My home was in ashes, wasn't it? The memories seemed indistinct and untrustworthy. My friend should be at my Keep or elsewhere serving Neverwinter.

Something of my thoughts must have reflected on my face. Bevil frowned, obviously concerned. “Look, I know all of this may not be what you wanted…but it’s good enough, isn’t it? We could be very happy here, together.”

I studied my friend’s face, trying to fight back the creeping sense of horror. No, this wasn’t what I wanted. It had never been what I wanted. I may not have chosen the circumstances that drove me from West Harbor and the life Bevil and others had assumed would be, but I had always known something would. I stopped dancing, staring at Bevil.

He looked stricken. “I’m sorry. Did I say something? Do something? If this isn’t…isn’t ok, please just tell me. What do you want?’

What did I want? I backed up, bumping into someone behind me. Gloved hands gripped my waist, no doubt to keep me and the person I had run into from falling over. I turned around to apologize for my clumsiness…

…and found myself facing Bishop. “Well. Looking for some fun, are we?” he mused.

My voice remained mute as Bishop pulled me away from the village green, smirking. The ranger, for all his ease outdoors, looked terribly out of place in my childhood home.

For a moment, his face seemed the only solid thing in the world. West Harbor blurred, shifted, and became a dank tavern filled with unfamiliar faces. Reality shaping itself to a setting more appropriate to the ranger’s presence.

The room stank of smoke, sweat, and vomit. Shadows gathered in the corner as if they thought that a fine place to hide their deeds from the world. The music was little more than the throb of drums woven with a poor imitation of melody. Somehow I knew the musicians, like everyone else in the room, were well into their cups.

Bishop led me through an unscripted dance. The only rule seemed to be that one must keep as much of one's body in contact with one's partner’s as physically possible. His nearness brought an uncomfortable heat to my face, worsened by glimpses of patrons who had already given up the pretense of “dancing.”

He dipped me and paused, one hand supporting my back while the other slid up my leg and under the slit skirt of the tight dress I had at some point changed into. Though dress seemed a generous term – I have undergarments that covered more flesh.

“You know what this is Knight Captain.” Bishop muttered as he leaned down, brushing his lips against my neck and while keeping our balance in that damn uncomfortable position. The stubble across his chin scraped at my neck, but that sensation paled in comparison to the hand inching further up my skirt. “I don’t give a damn about you or your cause.” Pulling back suddenly and moving with a predator’s grace, Bishop hooked his leg behind mine, shoving me over as his hand slipped away from the small of my back.

The floor was unkind, coming up to meet me with all the gentleness of a bolder. Everything spun, blurring the sneer on my companion’s face as he towered over me. Clarity returned as Bishop lowered himself on top of me, grabbing my hands and holding them to the floor above my head. He continued speaking, as if normal conversations frequently involved pinning your partner to the ground. “Of course, I do give a damn about my enjoyment. And under your wretched morals there is a lot you have that I could…enjoy.” Bishop leaned over, letting his lips brush against mine and whispering “As I’ve always said, you know how to attract trouble.” 

“M’lady?”

I turned towards the familiar voice, away from Bishop. Corset boning jabbed my side, calling my attention to the gown I was now wearing. Casavir, dressed in modestly cut court garb, stood over me. He seemed very much at home in the elegant ballroom decorated in the colors of Neverwinter.

Bowing slowly, the paladin extended his hand to me. “May I have this dance?”

Trying not to think too hard about what was happening, I nodded and placed my hand in his. He carefully pulled me to my feet and escorted me to the sharpening dance floor. I did my best not to stumble, unused to the copious layers of my formal attire.

The other couples in the formation were rigid as they moved through the minuet in time with the minstrels at the far edge of the room. Casavir knew every step and kept his pale eyes locked on me as the rigid forms brought us apart and together again. When our paths crossed he allowed only the briefest brush of his hands against mine, a far cry from Bishop’s unabashed pawing.

Though the niceties of the dance often kept us separated, I found it strange that Casavir did not try to speak. He seemed content to shadow my movements and watch me in silence.

The music changed, signaling another courtly dance. This one apparently allowed couples to remain in proximity to each other as opposed to walking separate paths around a set space. Casavir hesitantly placed one hand on the side of my waist, using the other to guide one of my hands to his lips.

“M’lady…” His voice was low and resonant, with a gravity best reserved for Queens and Goddesses, not upstart Knights. “You are truly luminous, a beacon for all who value good in his world. I am almost ashamed to approach you, for fear that my shadow will tarnish your light.”

Casavir kissed the back of my hand, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “And though I know I am wholly undeserving of you, I swear that I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

I found myself entranced, unable to move, the music a distant hum in the background. A shadow passed over head, the swaying of tree branches as Bevil cleared his throat, stepping between Casavir and myself.

“Excuse me” he hissed, grabbing my arm, pulling me back into the country reel, “but that’s my intended you are taking such liberties with.”

Casavir frowned, his expression still carefully polite. “The Lady has made her preferences known.” he said, holding out his hand to me.

I reached for it, not entirely certain why, only to watch in horror as an arrow flew between us, missing Casavir’s hand by inches. The tree filled ballroom seemed fogged, smoked filled and heady, as Bishop stepped back into view.

“The, as you put it, ‘Lady,’ needs to be thrown over the nearest table by a real man” he sneered, grabbing my other arm and pulling me towards him. "You boys had better find your own prey."

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore them. Voices rose and fell as the men continued their argument, discussing my assumed romantic interests without ever addressing me directly. My head spun as poorly tuned tavern instruments played over the bards at the village green and the court musicians with their stately training. Hands grabbed me, pulling every which way until I had no real bearing on who was trying to take me where and still, through the constant motion and music and madness, I found I couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream, couldn’t act to end this, to escape, to unravel whatever malady had befallen me.

Another set of arms grabbed me, jerking me to the side. After my initial stumble my current companion held me blessedly still, hands gripping my upper arms. The cacophony of competing minstrels continued to echo around us thought the voices faded. I kept my eyes firmly shut, trying not to imagine who else had come to chase my favors. Sir Neville? Sand? Gods knew I was hopelessly oblivious to the others for much of our time together.

“As much as I tend to enjoy watching this kind of display, I am forced to admit a certain discomfort in seeing you submit to such treatment.”

I opened my eyes and found Gannayev watching me, unusually intense. “Really. Don’t forget, you are supposed to be our fearless leader. It’s terribly unprofessional to allow yourself to be torn apart by the echo of other people’s dreams.”

It all made sense, as soon as he said it. A dream. Disturbing, indicative of the emotional tangle I had made of my life, but in the end, only a dream. I was not in Neverwinter. I was a world away in Rashemen, slowly losing myself to a centuries old curse. With the realization came some return of control. The music faded to silence and the swamp laden smoke filled ballroom faded around us, becoming a simple clearing.

“Better.” Gann let his hands slip off my arms and took a step back, still watching me with that unfathomably intense expression. “You are quite unlike anyone I’ve ever met, you know. Most people flee from the painful experiences of their past. They do not revel in them.”

I looked at the ground, still wordless, still trying to assure myself that I was not about to be whisked away by another admirer.

Gann watched me a long moment more and, satisfied or bored, turned to walk away. “This is your dream,” he said, not turning around. “Make it into something you want, not what others want you to want.”

I found my voice at last, calling after him, the first foolish thing to come into my head. “You’re not going to ask me to dance too?”

Gann paused and glanced over his shoulder, smirking as he made no effort to conceal a single snorting laugh. “Certainly not. It is your dream, Spirit Eater. Dance, or do not, with whomever you desire. If in some future nighttime romp you decide to ask me to join you, I will applaud your good taste and be more than happy to show these pale memories how it is done. But now?” He shook his head, turning back towards the edge of the clearing. “Morning calls us and I imagine you have danced enough.”

Watching him fade from view, I could feel the insistent tug of dawn and the curse’s unending hunger. It seemed this new state of being was stirring old wants and fears. I would have to guard my dreams carefully. Though, unbidden, the last thought to cross my mind before waking was that taking Gann up on his offer might be worth the lost sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this piece back in 2007, shortly after finishing Mask of the Betrayer. It was the out growth of studying dance and culture in the real world and playing (and loving!) this game expansion. It wasn't finished, but I had enough done that I would go back to it with a decent amount of regularity and add or edit a bit here or there. I finally forced myself to sit down and finish it (6 years later?), though I know whatever fandom might have existed around the game is long gone. Oh well ^_^ At least I can say it is done!


End file.
